Codename: Undocumented (Spin-Off)

Just gonna annoy Bry with this. On her poem Hold My Hand And Join The Fight, me and her mate La Volpe had a sparring match (aka. He tried to assassinate me on her orders). I got inspired, and felt like writing a spin-off from Codename: Plagiarists.

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1. A Warning

"Bry, don't you dare-" I yelled into my old phone, though I knew it was too late. She'd hung up on me, and probably gotten herself caught. Damn it! She knows I'll protect her, and what does she do? Leave me "for my own safety"! Jesus, I know she's a Movellian, but seriously! The Movellians can't be that dangerous.

I hung up dispiritedly, cursing furiously to myself. I have to find her though, just in case she hasn't gotten caught yet. She'll be in so much danger otherwise.

How though? She told me she's been doing this for years, since she was fourteen and skiving school. That much experience means she'll be hard to find, and probably won't give up without a fight. Judging by the scars and tattoos covering her, she's got a higher pain tolerance than when we were younger. Now, I bet she'd get to Nine or Ten on the Pain Tolerance Test, instead of the Six she got on the last day of year ten. I've still got the marks on the back of my hand from that.

"Someone you know gonna do something stupid?" The guy next to me asked, as I leaned against the bar. I needed somewhere low-key to hide out, so I went for Underworld, the local bar. It doesn't attract the most, well 'savory' of customers, but you can get away with very illegal things here. There are more guns than spirits here.

"Yep, and I've gotta stop her before she gets hurt. She keeps telling me she can take care of herself, but I doubt that." I replied, noticing this dude watching me load up the Glock she left behind. It's pretty impressive, with minimal recoil and an impressive sight on it.

"She sounds like trouble to me. Deffo interesting. She in the new government?"

"Nah, Bry told me herself she'd rather scrape her face with a cheese grater before she joins them. Bloody Movellians, always going out alone." I spat, tucking the sharp-nosed Glock back in my jacket pocket.

I knew then that it was the wrong thing to have said.

The loud shink of a blade coming free was first, followed by the thud of the point embedding itself in the bar top, inches from where my hand just was.

"You oppose the Movellians! Prepare to die then!"

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